


tell them we're from Voltron

by halfacookie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfacookie/pseuds/halfacookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Space is a big place with many big cracks. Lance and his gang are petty criminals who've fallen through some of those, living on the fringes of the final frontier with countless others. That is, until a chance rescue of one captured Agent Shiro catapults them right into the plot of a spy movie. </p><p>Futuristic spacey AU, rather heavily following the tropes of an action movie. #Shirolives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i regret writing in partial script form it's hell to code on ao3 :,) especially since i write in richtext :,,,,) this is a completely self-indulgent action-movie type pitch, so get ready to see action scenes!! and token lovely dresswearer! (it's not pidge. anyway clothes are in themselves genderless :P)
> 
> i hope the two styles are okay to read in, i'm a weirdo who thought it was a good idea

 

> FADE IN
> 
> EXT. CIVILIAN SPACE STATION X05 - WHAT TIME IS IT IN SPACE
> 
> A cluster of abstract metallic shapes, intersected by countless connectors. Spacecrafts flit around the station. Some can be seen landing at various docks, which look upscale and high-tech. Most of the docks are decorated by bright lights and signages, much like that in a metropolitan Earth city.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> (voiceover)  
>  Space! The final frontier.
> 
> A sleek spaceship lands on a particular dock. The dock’s interior hangar is decorated with Chinese dragons in chrome. The hangar doors close once the spaceship enters, and a group of bipedal aliens emerge to welcome the ship’s passengers.

>  
> 
> CUT TO:
> 
> INT. ORIENTAL THEMED RESTAURANT - STILL IN SPACE
> 
> An upscale restaurant decorated in a badly appropriated mix of Japanese, Korean and Chinese themes. Unlike in the hangar, the serving staff here are mostly human or humanoid, dressed in vibrant _qipaos_ or kimonos. It is crowded, a busy day.
> 
> LANCE pushes through the crowd. A scruffy-haired man in his early 20s, solidly projecting the image of an irreverent young wastrel who once had promise but squandered it. He is dressed in a faded bomber jacket and jeans.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> (voiceover)
> 
> Or, y’know, a final kick in the ass from life because you suck and will never do anything awesome with your life, ever.
> 
> He is followed by HUNK, a plump man of about the same age. Mild-mannered and bending more to social pressures, HUNK has visibly taken the effort to dress up; he looks uncomfortable in his clothes. His button-down is slightly too small for him.
> 
> HUNK
> 
> Lance…
> 
> LANCE
> 
> What? I’m trying to soak in the atmosphere here! All this ancient earth culture and pretty ladies all around us, we should take the time to _appreciate_ that! 
> 
> HUNK
> 
> Uh, they probably won’t appreciate us trying to steal their food so maybe we should hurry… also, the girl you winked at looks like she’s about to kill you. 

What?

Oh yeah. Shit, she really does.

Normally Lance would open his heart to even the most ferocious of girls, as long as they’re pretty, because who is he to get in the way of their interests and passions? You can beat me up if you need to, baby.

But this one glares at him with so much murderous intent, he’s kind of scared. She’s nonverbally threatening to eviscerate him as she prowls by, her lip curled into a scowl that looks awful with the sexy form-hugging dress, and like, its not even the kinky kind of evisceration. Not that he’s into that. Lance isn’t into evisceration, no matter how you sell it. He’s really kind of scared. Hunk shuffles close to him and whispers urgently, “maybe she’s an alien and she’s hiding twenty rows of sharp teeth and _maybe_ you just told her ‘go fuck yourself’ in her alien language, dude, we gotta get out.”

“Stop messing around and get to the counter,” Pidge’s voice comes over on Lance’s earpiece. “It’s probably just Lance’s personality. But I’m catching audio transmissions from another set of communications and it sounds like someone else is trying to break into this joint, so _hurry up_.”

Good ol’ Pidge. As snappy as the day they got fucked over by pilot school together- okay, technically Pidge had a nose for trouble and bailed out first, before Earth acquiesced to new Sector peace mandates and effectively scrapped its military spacecraft courses. _And_ threw Lance out into some godforsaken parcel of deep space, shuttling radioactive waste to treatment plants that have never seen the light of a star.

And now they’re here. So nevermind the defunct certificate stashed in the cockpit of his rusty old ship. Lance fishes out Pidge’s falsified receipt chip from his pocket, dusts off the lint that came with it, and thrusts it over the counter like a _boss._

The counter, like the gleaming arc behind it displaying baskets of extra cultery and condiments, is made with a dark marbled stone and decorated with gold. Maybe not real gold, but one of the countless gold-lookalike metals found or synthesized by every planet ever. The attendant is a humanoid with these weird too-big bug eyes, and Lance can see his reflection in them as the guy snaps “ _Yes?_ ”

Time to prove his talent for the stage.

Ahem! Ahem! Ah-ah-ahem. “We’re very disappointed in your service-”

 

> HUNK
> 
> (cutting across Lance)  
>  Excuse me, uh, we don’t mean to interrupt anything, but y’see we placed an order and-
> 
> LANCE
> 
> (offended, pushing Hunk behind him)  
>  Dude! Let me do the talking! (To ATTENDANT) We’re from LanceCorp-  -you must’ve heard of it, it’s super famous-
> 
> HUNK
> 
> (whispering)  
>  LanceCorp?!
> 
> LANCE
> 
> (ignoring)  
>  -and we made an order through your online systems for some good ol’ Oriental Takeout? But-! Shock and horror! Nothing got delivered.
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> (Over earpiece)  
>  Lance, hurry up, something’s-
> 
> LANCE
> 
> (ignoring)  
>  And so we demand a refund. Or alternatively, the goods.
> 
> Clearly annoyed, ATTENDANT takes the receipt chip and reads it through the computer behind the counter.
> 
> ATTENDANT
> 
> We don’t have records for your order of… twenty boxes of Draconian Qitzel wings.

There is a beat of pause. What? It seemed like a good idea. Everyone loves chicken wings, and their various intergalactic equivalents. Or at least, all three of them do, and all three of them comprise Lance’s entire social circle.

 

> LANCE
> 
> What? We have an office of very hungry Qitzel wing lovers!
> 
> ATTENDANT
> 
> Very sorry, guests, but your order isn’t in the system.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> That’s your problem, we made one! We’ve even got _evidence_!
> 
> Lance waves the falsified receipt.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Are you _scamming_ us?
> 
> Behind the counter, a buzzer sounds.
> 
> ATTENDANT
> 
> Pardon me, I have to take a call. (speaks in an unfamiliar language into an intercom)
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> (over earpiece)  
>  Guys, bail out- the other group got caught, they’ll be suspicious of you guys-
> 
> ATTENDANT
> 
> Excuse me, guests. Could you come with me? We’ll sort out your… receipt issue, we apologize for the inconvenience.
> 
> HUNK
> 
> (afraid)  
>  Actually, we’ve changed our minds-
> 
>  
> 
> ATTENDANT  
>  We can’t let you leave immediately. Many apologies. It will be less uncomfortable for all if you cooperate, guests.
> 
> CUT TO:
> 
> PIDGE’S SPACECRAFT
> 
> A dark, cramped room filled with gadgetry. The clutter is centralized around one wall, an informally designated workspace, where a desk runs across the length of the entire wall and screens occupy the length of the entire desk.
> 
> PIDGE is seated on a swivel chair at the desk. With the bad lighting it is difficult to make out their features or even gender; they are petite, with round glasses, and a fringe in a brown distorted by screenglow.
> 
> HUNK AND LANCE
> 
> (speaking over each other, through speakers)  
>  Pidge! Help, we’re in trouble! Pidge?
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> _Ugh_ \- (into a mic) -hide your communicators before they’re confiscated! I’ll see what I can do-
> 
> HUNK
> 
> (through speakers, agitated)  
>  Then how will we- aahh! No, no no it’s okay, we just wanna go home now-
> 
> VOICE
> 
> (muffled)  
>  Stop struggling and come this way!
> 
> PIDGE groans and leans back in their chair. The screen directly in front of them shows pixelated CCTV footage of security guards jostling HUNK and LANCE out of the restaurant area.
> 
> They turn their head to another screen to the side, belonging to a laptop with a decoding program open; soundwaves scroll across the screen. PIDGE enters something onto the keyboard.
> 
> LAPTOP
> 
> (playing a female voice)  
>  (static)... try to arrange for your release but… (static) take too long… (static) may not find a lead on Agent Shiro’s location again-
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> (to themselves)  
>  When you want lemons, but life hands you lemons just when you’re knee deep in busted hardware and live wires… okay. Pidge, you can do this.

* * *

 

The thing about most restaurants is that they’re too busy expecting someone to bust into their bank accounts. No one thinks of the genius that is using a fake receipt chip to scam them out of three days’ dinner, and so even though they take Pidge’s receipt for some hocus-pocus tinkering no one comes to throw them into a cell.

“Is there anything _wrong_ with our receipt? You can’t keep us here like this!” Lance tells the Zathoran guard at the door. “I want my lawyer!”

Hunk, acutely aware that they have no lawyer, elbows him.

But Hunk needn’t have worried; the guard merely frowns severely and asks for their patience. See. Lance is a natural at the art of the con. He’s called bigger Zathore guards worse things, and all his limbs are still intact. No profit-bloated machination of capitalism can hope to have one up on him, no siree, not even if they start hiring security personnel significantly sharper than the run-of-the-mill muscle they get from Zathore or Piagawa 08 or wherever the fuck. Oh, and Pidge helps too, he supposes. And Hunk. Great moral support.

Lance folds his arms smugly, then remembers he’s supposed to be huffy (and through that huffiness imply he’s got a Hotshot Boss tapping their foot impatiently, one  hand on the speeddial for their eighty-three lawyers) and changes his expression accordingly. He also puts his feet up on the table. Hunk makes a distressed gurgling noise.

“Weeell, could we have a refill of the snacks while we wait?”

Hunk’s distressed gurgle crescendos. The security staff’d frisked Lance’s communicator out of his pocket; Hunk having foreseen that, had stuffed the compact device into his mouth. That’s _gross_ , but it had made him unable to protest when Lance had assured the guard that the suspicious swell of his left cheek is ‘just a human thing’.

(“Our cheeks swell up when we’re under stress. My buddy’s a real nervous fellow. Can we have some drinks to calm him down?”)

Anyway, the guard’s right antennae twitches violently in response; they rattle something from deep inside their throat that sounds quite like a Zathoran swear. Lance decides to stop looking pointedly at the emptied snack-bowl. “Not my department. Someone will come soon. Be patient.”

Someone eventually comes, and they still have the screen the last guy brought. Lance can’t tell what species this one is, between the neck-to-ankles uniform and the large sunglasses.

“We express apologeticness for the inconvenience;” they start, tongue stumbling over the human syllables with accented difficulty. “We have mistaken you, it seems, you were mistaken as associated with a legitimate security issue.”

“You mean the guys in the fancy suits in that photo your pal showed us? Nah, haven’t seen ‘em in my life.”

Hunk points at Lance’s bomber jacket as if making a point.

 _What_ , Lance tuts, and Hunk shuffles forward on his chair to point specifically at the sauce stain on a sleeve from a week ago when they got unidentified discount goo for lunch. (never again.) The restaurant’s guy nods like they agree.

“Agreed, you and they costume yourselves very unlike associated parties.”

Okay, this is starting to be actually offensive!!

“We have received notification from your superiors. You are cleared to go.” With a pause to check some detail on their digital screen- holding the thing out of Lance and Hunk’s view- the staff member retrieves an earpiece from a pocket and hands it to Lance. It’s his. They then wave dismissively at the door; the guard there is already slinking out, more eager to go than two conmen a hair’s breath away from a prison ship. Like, literally.

“Your, ah, security check- checked together with the suspects’ infiltration attempt, an authentic one. Very coincidental timing.”

“Uh, ah, yeah. Haha. Real coincidental! I’m sure we’ll laugh about it later with our boss.”

What the hell?

Hunk takes his glass of nonmodified water along on the way out and spits his earpiece straight into the liquid in the corridor. Dude, is that thing waterproof?

> LANCE
> 
> (putting on earpiece)  
>  Dude, is that thing waterproof?
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> (over earpiece, urgently)  
>  _Of course_ it is. Anyway, quick- ask the staff for the other team’s communication device. I told them we were a cybersecurity company Station X05’s owner hired to test the place’s security systems, you should be able to do something with that. Hunk?
> 
> In this time HUNK has managed to wash, dry and put on his own earpiece.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Hey, I thought I was the better smooth-talker!
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> You make people want to fight you, I wouldn’t call that _smooth_ exactly.
> 
> HUNK pokes his head back into the holding room.
> 
> HUNK
> 
> Excuse me, Mis- uh, Mr- uh, excuse me? (pause) We got notice from our boss, yeah, is it okay if we got one of the trespassers’ communication devices? If they had one, I mean? We can analyse it and include results in the report we’re sending in later- yeah, yeah. No, uh, actually- yeah.
> 
> As HUNK negotiates, LANCE finds a discreet alcove down the corridor to sulk and banter with PIDGE.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> What’s the deal, Pidge? Are we gonna fry that fish next? I guess this game’s bust, huh.
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> (over earpiece)  
>  We’re… actually going to work with those people. I’ve talked to their contact. You ever heard of Shiro? Takashi Shirogane, ‘Shiro’?
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Woah woah woah. You don’t mean, _the_ Shiro? Valedictorian of his class Shiro, finest cadet from our garrison in the last decade? Youngest Junior Officer in-
> 
> PIDGE  
>  (over earpiece)
> 
> Oh my _god_ , that was a rhetorical question. I’ve _seen_ your stupid Shiro shrine back in cadet training. Anyway, y’know when they demilitarized all human-run bases from Earth to Jupiter?
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Uh, of course, that was when I got _kicked out_ ? And my motivational montage is _not_ stupid-
> 
> HUNK
> 
> Um, what’s going on? I’ve got the communicators.
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> (there is an edge to their voice, a little too serious to be explainable by the content of their words.)  
>  Officer Shirogane disappeared on an aid delivery mission to Sector Magellania very soon after that. About a year ago for you, Hunk. And the people who got caught with you, were trying to retrieve him from presumed imprisonment.
> 
> HUNK
> 
> So… you want us to uh… take over the rescue mission from them?
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Like in a _spy movie_?
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> (over earpiece)  
>  (pause. sighs) Turn on the goddamn communicator, guys.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> We’re gonna be _famous_ !! We’re gonna save _Officer Shiro!!_ He’s gonna owe us his _life_! Maybe we’ll get invites when he needs a friend to go to parties with-!
> 
> LANCE strikes a pose and mimes shooting a gun as HUNK fiddles with the new communicator. A light goes off on the stamp-sized device; then a voice plays, loud enough to be heard by both.
> 
> The speaker is ALLURA- she sounds decidedly feminine, decidedly firm and composed, and by implication decidedly in a position of some authority.  
> 
> ALLURA
> 
> Hello? Is this… Lance and Hunk?

* * *

 

 

> INT. CORRIDORS OF SPACE STATION - LATER IN SPACE
> 
> Floors below the gilt restaurants and well-furnished civilian spaces are the back-end rooms of the station, responsible for keeping it functional. The lighting is harshly fluorescent, the walls are futuristically metallic but undecorated. Staffs of all species move along these circles with purpose; overseeing delivery drones with supplies, on their way to board meetings.
> 
> ALLURA
> 
> (voiceover)  
>  Agent- you know him as Officer, sorry- Shiro is held in Zone 4, sublevel 3, a restricted-access area. Pidge will send you our copy of the station map. You’ll need to take the route marked in red, through the air vents, to get as close as possible to the holding cells.
> 
> LANCE crawls through an air vent. He is severely hemmed in by the walls, barely fitting.
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> (voiceover)  
>  Once you’re at the highlighted door to Zone 4, Allura will remotely trigger a virus her agents planted in the system earlier- it’ll shut down all the operation systems, so you should be able to manually force open whatever’s closed and go for it.
> 
> ALLURA
> 
> (voiceover)  
>  The air vents might be too big for Hunk, though, you might have to find another way...
> 
> LANCE pushes out a grille and drops from the ceiling, as HUNK rounds a corner. HUNK is now dressed in a maintenance officer’s outfit; he is whistling. LANCE groans and stretches as if in pain.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Dude, how did you get here?
> 
> HUNK
> 
> Oh, I just found the maintenance network for the plumbing and went that way.
> 
> Pause. LANCE stares.
> 
> HUNK
> 
> Borrowed this from someone on the way.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> That’s not fair, the vents were awful, my kneecaps are probably full of cracks now-
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> (over earpiece)  
>  Eyes on the prize, Lance, think of the parties you’ll get invited to! Allura’s activating the virus now, you got ten minutes!
> 
> Overhead, the lights flicker and go out.

_Go_ , Pidge hisses as cries of surprise echo down the corridor in twenty different languages. Lance can imagine the words rising through doorways like spurts of steam from a pressure valve broken, and that mental image is bad. The closed door, its locking mechanism dead, is only worth its weight in steel as an obstacle. Hunk is not unfamiliar with carrying around weights of steel. Lance is slightly more unfamiliar. But they lift the door, squeeze under it, run.

The first thing they come across spits an alien equivalent of _what are you doing here_ , syllables hissing serpentine, and they scream. Then Hunk punches the dude in the approximate head area, and then they scream more.

 _Shut up,_ Pidge howls to be heard, _keep moving! What’s wrong, I don’t have a visual of you guys! Are you in trouble?_

Hunk gibbers incomprehensibly as Lance tows him into a jog. No wait. The incomprehensible gibbering is coming from Lance himself: Hunk is completely comprehensible. Hunk is moaning about how he regrets this, everything, and is willing to become an underpaid mechanic again to avoid this. Their panic, at least, blends in with the surge of outcry that has only escalated as the darkness wears on: the metaphorical valve has given way completely. If that had been holding anything poisonous, they’re fucked. Uh, metaphorically, though they’re pretty much also literally fucked if they can’t pull this off.

Wow, okay, let’s just drop that metaphor.

Two more bodies hit the ground by the time they’re within the containment area. According to Pidge, that’s a fuel can half-full scenario, especially after Lance’s performance trying to pull out a laser pistol he’d forgotten the restaurant’s security staff confiscated. Against the containment area guard, who may or may not be injured. Since they took his gun and shot him with it.

Man, today is _full_ of cans of worms.

For a civilian station having holding cells at _all_ seems like a weird thing- aren’t civilian stations supposed to be like, peaceful and fun and basically the affluent spacetraveler’s chic party pad? Aren’t there supposed to be cute girls? But creatures from all over the place are here behind bars made of spacecraft-steel - the thing they use to keep all of space _out_ , here keeping prisoners in- and the air smells bad, of mistreatment, of fear-pheromones. This is some military-grade shit, cells all cramped up like the holding pens of pets or livestock.

Except pens are for sub-intelligent grade creatures. Pets, livestock. In these cells are creatures far from sub-intelligent, in the next cell is-

 

 

> TAKASHI “SHIRO” SHIROGANE is chained by his wrists to the wall. A man with a powerful, muscular silhouette, still struggling after an indeterminate length of captivity: his strength and fighting will are immediately evident. His shabby prisoner’s outfit looks ill-suited as Hunk’s previous attempt at upper-class. There is a prominent scar across the bridge of his nose.

It’s very battered, but it’s unmistakably the face Lance used to glance twice at every time he passed the wall of exemplary graduates. _TAKASHI SHIROGANE_  stamped under a picture of that commander’s face, the words one of the few things physically chiseled and enameled in gold rather than on a digital log somewhere. _EXEMPLARY CADETS_ had been the heading.  Lance had used to work out for some shot at making it up there, and also for those abs. (he’s since given up on both, but _man_ does the sight of that rack  inspire enough jealousy to pick up any training regime again).  

“Lance! Lance, we found him! Pidge! Allura, we did it!” Hunk is whispering, but loudly enough for Lance (and many other prisoners) to hear, which invalidates the entire point of trying to whisper.

But, yeah, they found him. The hero in the neatly-pressed Earth pilot uniform, shining star of the Deimos garrison, hissing against some truly intimidating chains. Lance is caught between awe, and boyish excitement, and sympathy.

Shiro sees them appear at his door, their images intersected by the shadows of the bars. He sees the downed guard’s gun nestled in Hunk’s arms. His weathered face _changes_ , and not quite in a friendly way.

> SHIRO
> 
> Who are you? What’re you doing here?
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Uhhh, we’re here to save you?? Pidge, help, he’s yelling at _us_?
> 
> ALLURA
> 
> (through communicator)  
>  Tell him you’re from VOLTRON!  
> 
> LANCE
> 
> (incredulously)  
>  Voltron? What are you, a secret superspy organization? Shit, we’re really in a spy movie-
> 
> HUNK
> 
> Stand clear!!
> 
> HUNK hefts the bulky gun and shoots at the lock until it breaks off the bars.  
> 
> SHIRO 
> 
> (softly, in recognition)  
>  Voltron… Do you know Allura?
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Damn straight we do, she sent us! We’re the good guys, we’re busting you out!
> 
> HUNK 
> 
> (wrenching open door, entering the cell)  
>  Lance, do you still got your lockpicks with you? He’s still kind of chained to the wall here!
> 
> LANCE responds yes, and hurries to fuss over SHIRO’s restraints. Outside, the cries of distressed and enraged prisoners grow louder as they realize LANCE and HUNK are only intending to rescue one of them.
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> (over earpieces)  
>  It’s been fifteen minutes, they’re probably going to start securing the place- hurry!
> 
> Once freed, SHIRO is able to get to his feet- though he wobbles, weak, and the other two support him as they leave. Hunk drop his gun to take SHIRO’s weight. The three retreat quickly out of the containment area: the other prisoners press up against the bars and claw at them as they pass, helplessly.
> 
> SHIRO
> 
> The other prisoners…
> 
> LANCE
> 
> You’re a damn right hero, Shiro my man, I’d totally support you if I could. But there’re two of us, and ten thousand of those aliens with guns who want to kick our butts.
> 
> They proceed through the station’s maze of corridors and lobbies.
> 
> HUNK
> 
> Hey, we’re doing pretty well,
> 
> GUARD  
>  (from a distance)  
>  Over there, intruders!
> 
> HUNK
> 
> Oh no no no no I take that back, I wanna go home-
> 
> They break into a staggering run, and burst through doors into-
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> INT. THE RESTAURANT AGAIN - MOMENTS INTO THE FUTURE… BUT NOT TOO MANY

They are _so fucked_.

Like, the so-unsafe-for-work, we-need-like-googles-and-safety-gear kind of fucked. Straight up BDSM-tier fucked, and in this instance Lance assumes it stands for Bad Dnotgood Sad Mverybad. Maybe he should stop trying to make metaphors, forever.

Footfalls sound in the corridor behind them. And shouts. Before them, several patrons turn heads and stare. Someone with a waxy, amphibious head calls flusteredly for a waiter to serve up some answers. Lance can’t really blame them; most of them are rich enough to have never felt a minute of stress in their lives, and here is an utterly stress-inducing crew of humans in rag-tag clothing. One of them looks like a felon straight out of jail (well, the jail part is accurate). Are these customers feeling the stress? Because god _damn_ are they stressed out from this.

“Excuse me,” the nearest waiter finally starts, nervousness under a silicon-brittle facade of sternness.

“ _Make a run for it!_ ” Pidge hisses. Tension has drawn their voice out into a singing, taut bowstring; their voice cracks on “ _go for the docking bay_!”

They try to steer Shiro around the edge of the main room, to the exits- Shiro is strong enough to cooperate, to hold most of his own weight, but it’s not enough. It’s not going to be enough, not when a huge guard (not Zathore this time, Lance doesn’t recognize the race- looks mammalian, likely from Earth’s Sector-) shambles through the door they came from and grunts in their direction.

They are not even halfway across the restaurant.

“Oh hell,” Lance whimpers; he doesn’t notice the serving staff he’d previously winked at -in the bright gown and with the tray of things- going very still, and staring.

 

 

> KEITH stalks through the room towards the group. His movements are predator-like, filled with lethal intent. He removes an elaborate ornament from his hair as he walks, his eyes focused on Shiro.
> 
> HUNK
> 
> Why’d you have to hit on that gir-
> 
> KEITH flings the ornament; a hairpin. It hits the guard’s temple, causing the creature to stumble with a howl.
> 
> KEITH
> 
> Shiro!
> 
> KEITH picks up an empty chair and smashes it into the guard. The occupants of the nearby tables scream and try to evacuate.
> 
> LANCE and HUNK blanch at KEITH’s voice.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> (whispering to HUNK) That’s a guy?? (to KEITH) Go away, we saved Shiro first!!
> 
> SHIRO
> 
> Keith-?
> 
> MANAGER
> 
> (angry)
> 
> Keith!! What are you doing!
> 
> KEITH looks into SHIRO’s eyes at the mention of his name, then turns away again to smash a plate of food from the nearest table into the guard’s face.
> 
> More guards approach. LANCE kicks them away as they hustle SHIRO forwards, and through an exit. A short walkway leads from the door to the hangar.
> 
> KEITH
> 
> A little help here!
> 
> HUNK shakes his head vehemently. LANCE lets go of SHIRO and doubles back to help KEITH fend off the security. HUNK helps SHIRO onto his craft; a small worn-looking ship that’s dwarfed by most of the other vessels.

“Keith” is disconcertingly good at this - bare-handed, he hikes up the flowing hem of his dress and roundhouse kicks a guard in the collar. What the heck, Lance can't believe he thought that was a girl. Lance _hit_ on this guy- nothing wrong with guys, but this one’s now beating someone senseless with a glittering high-heel.

“I’m locking your exit door,” Pidge says, and Lance pulls Keith back before the metal comes down between them and everyone else. It comes down on a guy’s carapace, and Lance kicks them until they reel out of the way, and the last thing they hear is an enraged voice shouting “ _KEITH, YOU'RE FIRED.”_ Then the _CLUNK_ of the door sealing, and gloomy silence.

The lights here are pretty gloomy without the illumination from beyond.

"I can't believe you're not a hot girl."

" _This is my uniform!!_ "

"Yeah, but why aren't you wearing, I dunno the guy's uniform-"

"The managers don't have the concept of gender, this is the _only_ uniform!"

Keith flips him the bird. Lance tries not to think about how many guys he hit on back when he'd assumed the management just sexist-ly hired an all-hot-girl serving staff.

“Sorry,” Lance says, since he isn't in a position to offer any better compensation. Not for someone who just got _fired_ , he's only a small-fry conguy here. Keith ignores him, and goes into the hangar to resume looking into Shiro’s eyes like that guy’s the only one that matters in the universe.

Way to make Lance feel loved.

 _Where have you been,_ Keith asks as Lance brushes past them to the cockpit. _Pidge has sent us coordinates to Allura and her folks,_ Hunk says when he gets there, the words a statement but spoken like a question in Hunk’s uncertain way. There is a question there: it’s whether he can get them there without crashing, or knocking something off against a meteorite, and Pidge backs it up when they inform him through the cockpit speakers _no needle-threading attempts today, okay?_

Lance feels around his seat as he settles in, his fingers finding his combat pilot’s license stuffed in the back. The upholstery is comfortably worn, the ship’s screens come to life with its familiar flickers. Even Pidge has dropped the tense chord in their voice that they picked up for the Shiro rescue.

“Strap in, passengers,” Pidge announces over all the craft’s speakers, and with the permissions Lance has given them to remotely access the ship it’s almost like they’re right there snarking into the staticy microphone. To Lance and Hunk, they add, “we’ve caught ourselves a big fish, gang-” and that tone is unbarbed enough that it’s almost comforting, their equivalent of “””tender”””, like the gang are low-flying enough to see a planet’s sunrise and Pidge is the first to realize the slowly-lightening sky for what it is. Lance has been offworld too long to be good with sky colors that aren’t “pitch-black, occasionally speckled”.

“Do we really wanna fry that fish?” Hunk asks. “I’m not sure I wanna fry it.”

The hangar doors open. Lance steers his ship out into the darkness.

“Oh no, we are so gonna fry that fish. It’s the chance to do something we’ve all been waiting for- that fish ain’t getting away,” Pidge retorts. “And what’s up with the Keith guy? They're not making out in the back, are they?”

(Turns out they were not.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school.... absolutely killed me, so sorry for the lateness :P I also decided to split this chapter into two so at least this half can be up.
> 
> Happy Holidays!

****Hunk is a mechanic by trade: before he came here he’d been on giant ships and planetside stations, and there had been hundreds in his team. No doubt one of those hundreds has long replaced him, maybe even a new guy who’d come into their job with a half- hour briefing of when the breaks were and the penalties for latecoming. And _here_ is disembarking from Lance’s rustbucket of a ship to medics fussing over Shiro, to the woman over the communicator personally greeting them. Hunk stares long and hard at her flowy outfit and decides it's expensive, and so she is important, and so _damn_ they are on to something weird here.

She introduces herself as Allura, and this place as a base of VOLTRON. Hunk has guessed, from the sight of the small and cloaking-shielded station, that its inhabitants aren't the usual crowd. The name sounds deep-space scary, like the bogey-wormhole but in all caps; mainly because the VOLTRON screensaving the large displays is in all caps and an intimidating kind of font.

“VOLTRON is an independent organisation specialising in conflict de-escalation and policing operations outside the reach of official law-enforcement,” Allura says, using too many words that don't make sense. From Lance and Keith’s expressions Hunk thinks they don't get it either.

“I didn't go to school,” Keith replies flatly, in his red swishy uniform trailing tears and loose threads, like not going to school is an achievement. Like he can't believe you're expecting this _knowledge_ shit out of him.

“I went to school, uh, mechanic school, and I don't get it either,” Hunk adds, trying for solidarity. Allura stares at them.

Lance preens and goes “babe, I went to _pilot school_ , I’m the most qualified here!” -and Keith has to stifle a groan in a fist, face scrunched up, and Allura _scowls_. Like an even-worse-than-Keith -when-they-first-met scowl. It's fucking scary. Hunk looks for something to duck behind if things go sour, but the next biggest guy is Shiro and he’s on a stretcher over there. And speaking of Shiro.

 

 

> PIDGE’s voice comes through a speaker at the side of the room. One of the screens making up the central display panel shows an image of a triangular robot with a central light.
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> Guys. Covert operations bypassing intergalactic red tape. They're like _spies_ , damnit.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Whoa, wait! They're _really_ spies?
> 
> ALLURA
> 
> I was going to offer places for you, but I think I've changed my mind. You're fired.

Okay. So they're not talking about Shiro yet. That thought was mistimed.

 

> LANCE
> 
> No, wait!
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> Hey. Do you really want these types out and about with the knowledge that this organisation exists? They’ll spill in no time.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Who's side are you on?!
> 
> The robot’s central light flashes red.
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> I'm trying to fix the awful mess you made! Who flirts with the woman in power on an unknown station that may very well be hostile territory!!
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Say that again in Earth-Standard English?
> 
> HUNK
> 
> Pidge is saying you fucked up, I think. And now they wanna fire us before even offering the work contract.

Allura, prim and pale-haired, sucks in a cheek as she thinks. She still seems ten seconds away from firing them, but her brow is furrowed like she's realised they're an inconvenience on top of unhirable. That's probably the case.

Keith has abandoned them completely to go look at Shiro.

Hunk wonders if he'll notice the thing, that Thing about the guy, speaking of. Lance waxed fanboy talking about Shiro's exploits on the way here, and how he's halfway there to being as cool. Hunk thinks of that as he mulls over Pidge’s words- _spies_ \- and imagines being cool. He also imagines Lance and the rest of them being cool. Lance, bug eyed at the thought of an intergalactic secret spy thing organisation, torn between awe and being annoyed at Pidge.

Then Hunk thinks of dying, and being kidnapped for however long Shiro has been, and it's suddenly a lot less cool.

“You need manpower anyway,” Pidge is saying through the speakers. Their little triangle avatar bobs on the screen, adorably, unlike the brutal way they're driving their point across. Like a tracker-drone flying in a straight line to its target. “Such a covert operation is bound to be short-staffed, right? Hunk’s a mechanic, Lance is a decent pilot. We have a useable skillset.”

“Who died and made Pidge in charge?” Lance frowns.

“I dunno, but hey, they're getting us places in the cool spy thing, I think…”  Hunk isn't sure he thinks thats a good idea, but…

“Plus, we’re the kind of people who won't be missed-”

It's Lance’s turn to scowl, horribly, with a seriousness that's usually very un-Lance. He makes two threatening steps towards the screens and Pidge's icon before Hunk sniffs out the trouble and grabs him.

“Take that back!”

Boy can Lance put up a fight when he wants to. Pidge makes a noise of surprise. Hunk doesn't notice much else because his face is full of a flailing Lance.

“You asshole, take that back! Just because you don't get shit for your birthday doesn't mean none of us have a family-”

Hunk doesn't know much about Lance; Lance is Pidge's pilot school mate, Hunk has never up til now dealt with pilots- okay, there was one time when one of the guys was in the cockpit during Hunk’s maintenance rounds but- oh, maybe there was that other time- okay, _not much,_ anyway. Pilots are higher Up There. Under the likes of Allura but not low. And Lance has been anything but that stereotype, Hunk can't count the number of discarded chip packets littering the guy's pilot seat sometimes, but he’s considering now that holding Lance back further would be rude. Would be overstepping his place as a dude who knows nothing about Lance’s folks. The guy ain't happy.

Hunk can kind of respect how much Lance cares for his family. He hasn't seen his own folks in the flesh in a while; travel is too expensive even after they've mastered lightyears.

 

> PIDGE
> 
> Alright, alright, sorry.
> 
> One of the medical staff rushes from Shiro’s stretcher to whisper to ALLURA. Her face changes with surprise.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Don’t say that again, you got that?
> 
> PIDGE
> 
> Okay, _chill_ -
> 
> ALLURA  
>  (urgently)
> 
> There’s some business I’ve got to settle now. Temporary arrangements will be made for you- Conran?
> 
> She speaks quickly into a communicator. The medical staff begin to move SHIRO out of the room.
> 
> KEITH
> 
> Is something wrong with him? What’s his condition- oi! Tell me!

Hunk is the one who tells Keith. Not the full condition anyway- only he's noticed about Shiro when he helped the man out of that space station. They're talking about Shiro now, he's been waiting for this.

“One of his arms’ a prosthetic, maybe that's the problem.”

Keith does a double-take, barely distinguishable from a prolonged glare. Their new escort guy, a guy with an orangey whiskery moustache, has his mouth in a scandalized _o._ Coran, he'd introduced himself as. He's an Alt-Human species like the earlier Boss Lady had been- aliens who’d evolved separate but ended up looking like humans anyway. He thankfully speaks Andromedea-Standard English. He also reminds Hunk of a quirky uncle.

“Agent Shirogane? Our best man?? You must be kidding me, he's got his whole arm prostheticised by those awful Galrans?”

It's hard to tell whether Coran or Keith is more upset at this news.

“Yea. I got that arm when we rescued him from the space station. It's pretty realistic-looking, but I dunno what tech it's using.”

Pidge might be able to tell. They took garrison courses, right? Even if it was some completely unrelated course, Pidge just has that aura of- of knowing stuff, Hunk supposes. Especially on mechanical things, with how much they're around the stuff.

Pidge ain't here, though. Coran said they were communicating with them separately since she ain't physically here yet. The next most familiar guy here is Lance, who’s mostly complaining about how cool it'd be to _have_ a mechanical arm, dude, what's Keith and Coran’s problem. He has a point- Hunk’s fantasized about getting prosthetics before, maybe a cool eye that scans ship parts and tells him if there's any structural fault before he has to figure it himself.

“You want to try getting your _arm ripped off_?” Keith snarls, and tries to whack Lance.

(Prosthetics are expensive, though. Man, you can't enjoy any of these cool space technologies when you got the salary of a second-rate mechanic.) But that aside, Lance is hissing like those small furball lapcreatures again, and Coran has his hands full trying to keep Keith and Lance apart. It hits Hunk, at that moment, that those two are going to be trouble.

“Guys!!” Hunk yelps, and goes to help pull Lance away. It's gonna be like untreated unstable-metal parts and some oxidising contaminant, you turn your back without cleaning out the casings properly and _boom_ it goes. You can see it in their eyes they're born to be enemies. Like, the petty kind. Without looking down at Lance, Hunk can already hear him muttering insults about Keith’s hair.

 

> HUNK
> 
> I’ve seen worse, actually.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> What could be worse than a dead niff-rat on a guy’s head?
> 
> CORAN
> 
> You Not-Yet-Recruits!! Quieten down, please!

Looks like he's gotten Keith to calm down, somehow. Hunk suspects it's got to do with Shiro- the two seem attached. How, he's got no clue.

 

> CORAN places his palm on a wall-mounted panel, unlocking the closed door in front of them. He ushers the others into the room.
> 
> LANCE and KEITH continue to exchange glares as CORAN starts up the systems in this room; it is smaller than the previous one, a side conference room.
> 
> CORAN
> 
> I’m going to brief you now for your temporary assignments. If you’re a registered citizen under any government, please scan your ID cards through the reader on your right! If you're more illegal than we thought, we’ve got employment forms. Parchment forms, though, _very_ outdated.
> 
> HUNK
> 
> Wait, we’re hired? W-what if we haven’t made up our minds?!
> 
> LANCE
> 
> What’s our salary? Do we get cool suits? Spy blasters? I demand a full look at the terms and conditions of this!
> 
> CORAN
> 
> Well, I thought you’d prefer something more interesting, but sure.
> 
> The screen displays paragraphs on paragraphs of terms and conditions. LANCE balks. HUNK squints, uncomprehending. KEITH ignores the screen completely and has scanned a worn-looking card.
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Y’know what, send that shit to Pidge.
> 
> CORAN
> 
> Knew you’ll come round, recruits. Take a seat, I’ll start the briefing now!

For a supposed intergalactic … cool-sounding whatever, its employees have really bad slideshow skills.

 

> CORAN  
>  (voiceover, to a montage of a badly made slideshow in comic sans)
> 
> VOLTRON was founded first as a support department to the Andromedean Galactic Council, but now we work independently. It’s small, top-secret- which is essential to our job as third party mediators to interplanetary conflicts! Our latest issue is tackling GalraCorp’s problematic behaviors. You’ve heard of GalraCorp, right?
> 
> LANCE
> 
> Aren’t they the biggest thing ever in the Jarre Sector?
> 
> HUNK
> 
> I heard they sell the best tech.
> 
> CORAN
> 
> Yes, they’re one of the biggest conglomerates around. But have you thought of what it cost to achieve that?
> 
> Cut to Coran, standing in front of the bad slides.
> 
> CORAN
> 
> GalraCorp’s home planet- where most of their senior staff are from- that planet’s been rendered nearly inhospitable by relentless resource excavation. The Galran species have such a work ethic. Their success has been mostly fueled by invading other territories for resources and labour. And because the company’s tied in with Galra’s government, the Sector Councils can’t come down on it. That’s where we come in!
> 
> KEITH
> 
> So what do we have to do?
> 
> HUNK
> 
> And what did, uh, Mister Shiro have to do with them?
> 
> CORAN
> 
> We run aid or interference missions on planets unlawfully controlled by Galran forces. Agent Shirogane, I’m afraid to say, was captured along with his team on one such mission. We’ve always _known_ it was the Galrans, but we never managed to find a lead until now!
> 
> LANCE  
>  (to HUNK)
> 
> That’s the one Pidge was talkin’ about, right? Wait, how did Pidge know about that?
> 
> CORAN  
>  (continuing)  
>  But that’s well and done, thanks in no small part to your efforts! Since some of our agents have been detained in Station X05, the current plan is for you to take over their schedule until they’re deployable again. Okay! Now let’s move on to the training segment!

* * *

 

Should’ve asked about the darn training segment first. But maybe it still might’ve been futile, with how fast Coran’d whisked them out of the briefing room and into the glare of high-tech fluorescents.

“Look, where’s Pidge?” Lance complains after a single round of getting pummeled by VOLTRON’s training droids. Hunk feels bruises forming on his arms and legs, where the pain from taking punches won’t fade. Owww.

“Ah, your friend?” Comes Coran’s response, after Keith pounds the wall-mounted communicator to get his attention. “They’re heading straight to your mission venue. Their ship’s got no warp drive, so we decided it’ll take too long for them to travel here.”

Man, Pidge gets the best deals. Lance hollers in indignation; Hunk flops against the edge of the lowered training area and wheezes.

 

> HUNK
> 
> We need a break, please!
> 
> CORAN  
>  (from speakers)
> 
> But you’ve got no time for a break! We’re already shortening your training duration by- ( _pauses_ )- oh quiznak, about three thousand percent!

 

Lance flops too, leaving Keith as the only one left standing. Strange guy, that Keith. They found him working minimum-wage in that space station, but he’s even better at combat training than Lance is. Piloting skills, too- Lance and Hunk got out of that segment because they had their qualifications to prove basic competency, but Keith ran the simulation and did what looked like a pretty good job. A job good enough to make Lance’s face go real sour.

Now, Keith plucks the gun from the deactivated training droid’s arms and fires a warning shot into the ceiling.

“Give them what they want,” he threatens.

Holy smokes, he's intense.

“Calm down, calm down!” Coran stutters over the communicator. “I’ll send some food up, how about that?”

Food, that's a lovely idea. Man, when's the last time he ate? Hunk pulls himself up to sit on the ledge surrounding the training pit, using the slight boost in height to examine the room. Lance moves over to join him, but doesn't bother hoisting himself up.

“That escalated quickly, didn't it?” Lance says idly, stretching his railing-thin legs. Hunk reckons _quickly_ is a huge understatement; but thinking too much on things is a bad idea, so he only shrugs. Maybe they have space for a mechanic, even a hardware expert. He can ask Coran; he's flexible.

“Do you think we'll get to be in a team with Officer Shiro?”

“Gosh, I hope not!” Hunk yelps, thinking of the Galra and having to face them.

“Get off the floor,” Keith growls. He’s messing with the training controls.

“Aren’t we on break? Loosen up a little! We can do icebreaker games!” Lance groans from his spot, not moving.

“The break’s to get you out of my way,” is the response.

What a long day. It's not even dinner yet.


End file.
